The Stormtrooper Chronicles
by SnappleAddict
Summary: They don’t blink. They are merciless. Fanatically loyal, these men in woman in stark white armor throw down their lives to preserve the New Order. They are the Iron Will of the Emperor. They are the Stormtroopers. Just get past the 1st Ch. It gets better.
1. Indoctronation

Disclaimer: You know the Drill. Lucas owns Star Wars, I don't. We've established that fact, methinks. **J**ust so we've cle**ar**ed that up. **He**re goes, my very own Stormtrooper. **A**nnnndd**d**...begin.

Storm Trooper

Part I: Indoctrination

"And so, as you leave this school to ensure the survival of the Empire, you will become part of a tradition. And you will become the Emperor's Hands and Eyes. For the Glory of the Empire and your homes, rise up and claim you're place the Empire!"

Following this statement, one hundred and sixty-three young men and women in crisp, grey uniforms stood, arms raised in salute. In the background, the Emperor sat on his throne, passively watching as even more of the galaxy's young joined his legions of stormtroopers.

In the ranks of stoic faces, Dev Astar awaited his number. On Indoctrination Day, the cadets were stripped of name and individuality and given two letters and three numbers. This was their new name until discharged.

"Astiv, Kyp. PG-968, Iron Will Squadron. Report to Commander Meekly.

"Astar, Dev. TX-116, Black Storm Squadron. Report to Commander Turke."

Dev swelled with pride as he marched over to his new superior. Black Storm was an elite unit that operated outside of normal chain of command.

Turke was examining his data-pad when Dev approached. Three Stormtroopers in matte black armor, helmets in hand, talking quietly among themselves.

"Astar, eh? I heard you scored very high on all your tests and on marksmanship. Graduated in the Top Ten for your class. That's why I'm stuck with you. You have been awarded an honor here boy, one most loyal Imperials would kill for. Do you even know what Black Storm is, boy?"

"Sir, Black Storm is an elite group ofsoldiers who preform above and beyond the call of duty. They, we, are the first in and last out. Black Storm is the best," Dev recited. "They can do everything from regular infantry work to assassinations, sir!"

Turke regarded the young trooper.

"One of those, I see. Well, boy, we'll brake you in."

As soon as Dev's shuttle reached the Black Storm command v ship, he was awed. BS Command was a _Victory_-class Star Destroyer, painted blood red with black streaks. The name on the side was _Crimson Dawn_.

The shuttle docked in the bay, and Dev's jaw nearly dropped. Dozens of stormtroopers moved as one in P.T. drills and weapons checks. It was like they were one brain in fifty bodies. Dev whistled.

A lieutenant jogged up to them. He was holding a data-pad in his hands and a CDEF blaster pistol in his holster. The holster was a non-regulation speed holster, Dev noted.

"Sir, HI-289 reporting. This the cherry?"

"Yes, 289. Introduce yourself, boy."

"Sir, TX-116 reporting for active duty, Sir!"

289 looked Dev over, trying to decide what to do with him. Finally, he turned and jogged down a corridor. Dev jogged after him. He stopped at a grey door with the inscription 'Bunks 5A-K.' inside were about thirty bunks. Troopers sprawled on the bunks, reading letters from their girlfriends, or huddling over the latest Holo-Net release, or listening to the Imperial March.

"This is your platoon. Troops, this is TX-116."

The platoon briefly looked over, but said nothing. One guy muttered "Damn Cherries." Obviously there was a dislike of new recruits in this outfit.

"Your bunk, 116. You may store your spare uniforms in this locker, any personal weapons in _this_ locker, and armor in _this_ locker."

"Adequate."

"Deposit your stuff, and follow me to receive your armor and weapons."

Dev followed 289 down another hall. They stopped about five minutes later at a turbo-lift and rode it to Deck Four. 289 got out and led Dev to the Armory.

Inside, a suit of black stormtrooper armor rested on hooks. Next to it, an E-11 blaster rifle and an SC-14 pistol were waiting for him.

"These are going to be your new best friends, 116. Know them inside and out, and love them."

Dev ran his finger over the armor, making sure it was real. It was. He asked when he would get to wear it, and was replied to by a laugh.

"Right now," 289 said. "We're leaving for Chandrila.

Dev sat in the _Crimson Dawn_'s briefing room with other members of his unit. Next to him, US-**4**26 and MC-705 sat, seemingly unmoved by the information they received. Behind him, PG-158, BV-26**3**, some of the few females in Black Storm, IE-005 and RD-093. They listened as Turke explained the situation.

"Rebel troops have taken control of Chandrila's Capital Building in an attempt to drive out the local Imperial garrison. These are not half-assed mountain boys, but well trained and well armed soldiers. Our TIE wings have eliminated the air threat, and mechanized ground forces have surrounded the city. Here's the catch: The Rebels have seized high-ranking and irreplaceable Imperial officers, so the MechInf. can'tjust knock the city down.Black Storm is to go in and eliminate the Rebel forces. You men have been selected because you are the freshest," Turke said

"Whose men?" 158 asked, causing a few of the troops to smirk.

"You're all men in my unit. If all goes to plan, you'll even get a new mate. Now you will be inserted here," Turke started again, pointing at a red circle on the holo-chart. "Make your way through this skyrail maintenance tube and rescue the Imperial officers. Three AT-STs will be waiting for you outside the city limit for transportation. Good luck."

The stormtroopers already had their weapons, so a quick trip to Landing Bay 3 to obtain extra ammunition and a _Lambda_ shuttle ensured the troopers were locked, loaded, and ready to rock. As theeight hand-picked commandoes boarded the ship, Dev felt his stomach flutter. Not even 36 hours out of Cardia and he was on his first mission. At this rate he'd be a full-bird colonel in three weeks.

"Wow," he said to 263, who was a Sergeant Major. "You must been in, what, nine days?"

263 looked at him with her pale blue eyes. She just looked for a minute or two, then put her helmet on. Humor must not have been an outstanding trait in this outfit.

The shuttle made it's descent with little incident. The pilot gave all the correct codes, and within four minutes of disembarking the _Dawn_, the shuttle landed about 3/4 klicks from the skyrail. The commandoes got out and leapfrogged their way to the maintenance tube.

426 had each of them crawl through, one at a time. Dev tried not to think about the fact that the skyrail was 68 meters over the ground, with very little standing between them and certain death except some thin plasti-steel. They made their way through the narrow tube for about an hour, then reaching the objective.

093 was on point. He snaked a fiber-optic line through the tube's access hatch. He held up his hand in the universal _okay_ sign, indicating it was clear. Once all the stormtroopers had cleared the hatch, 426 made his plan clear.

"Okay, 005, you'll remain here. 263, you'll take 116 with you down this passageway here. 705 and 158 will make their way to this chamber," 426 said, marking their routes on a mini holo-chart. "093 is with me. If you find an officer, bring him back here to 005. Clear?"

All the troopers responded simultaneously. It was shaping up to be another mechanically perfect Black Storm team.

263 moved stealthily down their assigned route. Dev did his best to keep the noise down, but he was still a 'cherry'. His steps made the faintest whisper, but that was still enough to get them in deep shit if a sentry was walking about. 263 held up a closed fist. Dev stopped and waited for 263's assessment. She held up three fingers, then pointed twice to the right, and once to the left. She pointed to herself, then to the right, pointing Dev to the left. Next, 263 held up three more fingers, then a thumbs up. This translates as: STOP. three enemy soldiers. Two on the right, one on the left. I'll take right, you left. We go in three seconds.

263 ticked down. Then she and Dev popped around the corner and sent precision blaster bolts at the Rebels. Dev immediately dropped his, then watched as 263 blew holes in them with her rifle. One Rebel managed to return fire, snapping off a quick shot.

263's upper right helmet exploded. Armor fragments bounced of Dev's own suit. He quick downed the Rebel, and turned to 263. Surprisingly, she was unharmed. But her right eye and part of her nose and head showed, and had slight 3rd degree burns. Dev noticed now that she had white-blonde hair.

"Bastards. You grease that scum?"

Dev nodded. He helped back on her feet, and radioed in that they had engaged enemy troops. They continued onward, and found two officers dead, both executed. There was one still alive though, and Dev untied the aging officer.

"Thank-you son. These Rebels don't know how to treat an officer."

"Of course sir. Here, take my sidearm. I'll be escorting you back to the insertion point."

The officer looked slightly confused.

"Your comrade? She is staying here?"

"263? She can handle herself. There are a few sentries she wants to test out the new silencer on."

263 had unfolded her stock and screwed the silencer into place. She looked through the E-11's scope. That's why the Imperial stormtroopers loved the E-11. It has a folding stock, so it could be use effectively like a pistol in CCC (Close Corders Combat), an the scope allowed a regular trooper to play sniper if conditions were right.

263 had taken down one sentry when Dev left. When he came back, she was pinned down in the room by a dozen Rebels. Dead bodies laid scattered around the doorway, still smoking, a testament to 263's skill.

Figuring that the element of surprise was over, Dev lobbed a flashbang into the Rebel horde. The stun grenade gave him and 263 enough time to slot every one of the enemy troops. They returned to the hatch to find that the rest of the team had rounded up all the surviving officers. There was a banging on the hatch.

"The tube is out. Idea's for rapid exfil?" 426 asked.

"I saw some modified landspeeders in the garage," 705 said. "They fit five people, easy. We 'borrow' a few, then speed to the Chicken walkers."

"If there are no other ideas, then let's go with that," 093 cheerfully exclaimed.

The officers protested at first, but they were convinced that dying was not high on the List of Things to Do.

The Imperial force reached the garage only three minutes later. The whine of blasters firing told everyone to duck. The strike force traded shots with the rebels until 093 hot-wired a landspeeder. Dev took careful aim and hit a charging Rebel in the face. It blasted apart into scorched chunks, bits of skin landing on and sticking to 426.

"Nice," he said.

"Don't mention it, Loot."

The team got four more speeders. Everyone piled in and 005, who was in the turret of the lead speeder., blew the garage doors open. The surviving Rebels chased after the landspeeders in their own, firing shots that boiled the transpari-steel windshields. The speeders just kept booking until they reached the Chicken walkers. The Rebel speeders were no match for the heavy-duty AT-STs. They fired a single salvo with their concussion grenade launchers, then with their heavy-blaster cannons. The speeders rained down on the country side, but noone was hurt. No Imperial that is.

The troopers exited the speeders and boarded the walkers. 005 wouldn't get out so Dev tapped him on the shoulder. His head lolled to one side and Dev knew that 005 was dead. Sure enough, the back of his neck and shoulders were gone, in their place blackened tissue.

"116 to BS Leader, I have one down, repeat one down."

"Copy, 116. You know what to do."

005's corpse was just going to be dead weight. In the event that a stormtrooper couldn't be carried of the battlefield, there was a thermal detonator on the trooper's back pelvic plate. It would go off and take the speeder and 005 with it.

Several quit minutes later, the AT-STs arrived in a clearing were an Imperial HLC waited for them. The craft loaded up, and flew off. Inside, the surviving stormtroopers both celebrated and mourned. They had lost a comrade, but had completed a high-pri mission and gained a new member who had proven to be worthy of Black Storm Squadron.


	2. Pinpricks

1Stormtrooper

Part two: Pinpricks

Sweat dripped from Dev Astar's, designation TX-116, face. His head slapped on the training mat. Dev was dressed in grey P.T. and leather padding on his head, hands, and knees. He tasted blood in his mouth and spit it out. His whole body ached from blows sustained while training. He'd been less battered on Chandrila.

"Come on, 116, hit me," his sparring partner, US-426 said. 426 was a short man with brown hair and thick Sullast accent. But he was lean with muscle and salted by years of combat. He was trying to teach Dev an old Jedi hand-to-hand technique, which resulted in him regularly beating the piss out of the poor trooper.

Dev wheeled in a spinning kick. The move was as fast as greased lightning, but somehow 426 caught his foot and once again Dev crashed onto the mat. Weary he drew himself up. 426 danced on his feet, waiting for the next assault. Dev swung his foot under the sergeant's feet, but 426 jumped over the sweep and planted his foot squarely into Dev's bruised face. Dev, beaten and battered, went and stayed down on the mat.

"Goddamn it! You get off your lazy ass, or I will firmly plant my boot in your face."

"Again?" Dev whined through his broken teeth. He'd just about had enough.

"That's enough, 426,", HI-289 said. Dev's C.O. was in his dress uniform, with enough metals to make an AT-AT. Impressive, to say the least.

"Sir? What's with the Class A?" Dev asked, jaw quickly forgotten.

"Remember that Moff we saved last time out? Throwin' a celebration for us, medal ceremony and all that. Wear your Class As, both of you." 289 turned to leave and added, as in retrospect, "And try to fit all your tin on this time, 426."

Dev waited until 289 left, then asked, "You really got too much tin you can't fit it on your Class A?"

"Yeah," 426 said, wiping his face of with a dirty towel. 426 changed the subject, being somewhat modest about his medals. "You're improving. I think you could maybe take my grandmother. A tie, perhaps."

"But in any case, 116, you are now as up-to-date on hand-to-hand as any man in our platoon," 426's eyes flashed dangerously, as they often did when he was drunk, having fun, or getting into a fight. "Any man, except me."

"Yeah, but I can out-shoot you eight days of seven," Dev retorted. "You choose which hand. Hell, your aim is so bad you couldn't hit Tarkin's ego."

"Real man of you to kill with weapons from afar. Oh! I'm a gonna shoot you from 800 meters with rifle! There's no honor in it."

"Okay, next time out, leave your rifle and sidearm with me. You can fight the Rebs hand-to-hand if you want. I'm sure they'll see honor in the same way."

426 snorted, but commented no further.

Dev and 426 reached their rooms in about ten minutes. The door whooshed open, revealing BV-263 adjusting her dress hat. She had been Dev's partner on his first mission, and rumor was the officer they rescued, Moff Finnus Bailey, from rebel insurgents was going to present her with the Imperial Cross of Valor, and the Red Moon for wounds sustained in combat. No wonder she wanted to look good.

"Hey baby. Getting dressed up for me?" 426 said, grinning so wide it nearly touched his ears.

"You are an absolute Wookie when it comes to manners," she snarled.

"And you are so hot when you're angry. The red in your face really brings out the best in you Sergeant Major."

263's complection turned to a darker, dangerous hue before she stormed out of the small troop area. Dev watched her for a moment before speaking.

"You really push her buttons man."

"Eh. Doesn't bother me. She knows she wants me."

Dev snickered, but offered nothing else. He stripped to his skivvies and put his hand against a palm-plate to open his locker. Three crisp uniforms, regulation dull grey, with three special dress boots, regulation black, polished till they shone, with three hats, again regulation grey, accompanying. The black lightning unit patch of Black Storm was stitched on the sleeves, as were the single chevron of a private.

"Hey, dumbshit," 426 said as Dev began to tug some clean skivvies on. "You might want to take a shower first? Yeah? Show up at a medal ceremony stinking like bantha shit. Real professional. Yeah."

Dev smacked his forehead and left 426 to his bidding. The nearest showers were on Deck Seven, three full decks below him.

"Fuck," Dev said to no one in particular.

It took him a full ten minutes to get to Deck Seven, fifteen to get to the showers and take one, three to apologize to a TIE pilot of the opposite sex he had inadvertently flashed, eighteen to get back to Bunks 5A-K, four to get dressed and do a quick shave, then another ten to get down to Docking Bay 3.

"You're late," HI-289 said, checking his wrist chrono.

"Sorry sir. Navy pilot distracted me. Would have been here sooner."

"Make sure it doesn't happen again, 116. It's not a good practice to keep a Moff waiting. Especially if you're just a soldier."

"Not just a soldier sir!" Dev responded automatically.

"Green bean," 426 snorted when 289 turned for the shuttle. "You could have used our shower. It's about 30 seconds and ten steps from your locker."

8?

Dev, 289,246, and the other surviving members of the squad boarded a luxury _Lambda_-class shuttle. Sent up planetside just for them, it had padding, and first-class leather seats. No drop harnesses or rough metal seats like the military shuttles Dev was accustomed to. No weapons rack for E-11s. And no salty coxswain barking orders. Instead, a set of lovely flight attendants, one human and one Twi'lek. It was...disconcerting.

The planet-fall was uneventful. MC-705 was constantly squirming in his seat, unable to cope with the leather seating on the shuttle, until 289 told him to either stop or stand up. 705 stopped, but began gnawing on a tooth-pick he had produced from the pocket of his dress jacket.

The luxury shuttle glided into Brentaal Spaceport without incident. The inertial compensator and air-cushioned landing gear made the landing less bumpy, less of a 'high speed on a bad road' type of landing that stormtroopers are so accustomed.

Two of Moff Bailey's personal guard were there to meet the troops. Judging from the high sheen of their armor, and rifles held at neat, crisp port arms, it was deduced by Dev that the men had probably seen about as much action as he had. A choice assignment for soldiers with a few wars tucked under their belts and more medals than 289, but a hot-blooded young trooper like Dev would probably desert given this detail.

"Welcome to Brentaal," the two stormtroopers monotoned.

"Ah, Lieutenant, welcome to my humble planet," Moff Bailey said loudly, gliding past his guards nimbly despite his weight. He had actually decided to meet the troopers at the spaceport, Dev was shocked to discover, and his opinion of the Moff went up a few notches. Three groundcoaches waited to transport them to their party.

"So, Lieutenant, how did you find the flight down? Enjoyable I hope."

"Well, sir, a bit too much luxury and class. My men are soldiers, and I a career line officer. We enjoy simpler points in life. A warm shower and a mug of coffee, for starters."

The Moff laughed merrily. "An excellent point m'boy! Here's to ground pounders everywhere!"

At some point the Moff Bailey produced a glass of Alderaanian wine and gulped it down in one breath.

"Nothing like Alderannian vintage," Bailey exclaimed.

"No sir," 426 said.

"Well, to the coaches then. We must proceed to the ceremony."

8?

"Sweet baby Palpatine's left nut! This place is huge!" Dev burst out bluntly when he saw the Imperial palace. The palace, though nowhere near as elaborate or expensive as Palatines on Corusant, was an elegant structure made of some unknown but impossibly expensive material.

"Was that you, 116?" 263 asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

263 leaned over and smacked Dev in the back of the head.

"Do not ever take the Emperor's name in vain."

8?

The ceremony was too "pretty" in Dev's opinion, meaning that there were too many officers and loyal families strutting about, showing off medals and money. A prime opportunity for Rebel assassins, but 289 told him that in the unlikely event of an attack, Bailey's personal stormtroopers would take care of it. None the more reassured by this thought, Dev drifted around and sampled tidbits of various foodstuffs that he as a soldier would never be able to afford if he saved his money for a year.

Eventually, Dev wound up in the company of a young woman who looked about his age. She was dressed in a blue shimmer silk body sheathe which did wonders for her figure. Having no prior experience with non-trooper females, he was nervous to say the least. She was patient, though, and didn't seem to mind if Dev constantly drifted off to military topics.

"Have you killed many men?" she asked.

"No. A helluva lot scum though!" Dev said and roared with laughter. He saw out of the corner of his eye 426 wander over.

"Leave the cursing to the professionals son. Can't you see that you're upsetting this lovely young lady?"

"Shove off, el-tee. We're off duty," Dev said, a little hotly.

"Don't make me rip your nose off and glue it to your asshole, boy."

"I'd like to see ya try."

"You are becoming insubordinate, Private 116. I'll forgo a court marshal and merely ask you to leave me and this young woman be."

"No, it's okay," the young woman put in, stepping between the two men. "I rather like to hear something other than pompous bantha shit. Both myself and the private are enjoying ourselves immensely."

426 and 116 doubled over at that, and with a "See you on the mat", the el-tee left to pursue another woman.

"We've been talking all this time, and I don't even know you're name," Dev mumbled through a mouthful of 'Nerf Tenderloin Tidbits'.

"Jan Bailey. What's your name soldier?"

Dev's jaw dropped. He'd just been fraternizing with a moff's daughter. That was strictly and explicitly forbidden by Imperial protocol, and Dev's own personal code. Getting involved with politicians in any way shape or form was akin to going toe-to-toe with a pissed off Wookie. There would be consequences galore if he didn't disengage right the hell now.

"Actually, I think I'll be going then..." Dev began as he started to meander off.

"Why?" Jan inquired. Her eye's were smiling, but a hurt tone slightly overlapped her voice.

"Uh..it's...well...um...it's against regulations to fraternize with an officer or their family."

Jan looked amused by his nervous behavior, and was relieved slightly that it was some silly rule that was causing his discomfort. "We're not _fraternizing_, as you say. I'm merely getting acquainted with my father's rescuer. Is that against regulations?"

"I guess not..."

"Well then. Problem solved. Now trooper, I, as the Moff's daughter, order you to tell me you're name." She said it with a commanding voice, but detectable humor was imbedded in her words.

"You have a great commander's voice," Dev said offhandedly. "Have you considered enlisting?"

"Are you gonna recruit me or something?"

"Oh! Um, no. My name is...my name? Do you mean my designation?"

"Your...?"

"My number."

"You don't have a name?"

"I did. When I was given the honor of joining the Emperor's forces, I was given the designator TX-116."

"None of you have names?" Jan asked, somewhat shocked by this.

"No ma'am. Except for commissioned officers."

"Well, what's your real name?" Jan demanded.

"That's not really allowed by protocol, ma'am..."

"Oh! This damned protocol of yours! Please tell me. Don't make me beg!" She near shouted, causing some of those closest to turn their heads.

"Dev. Dev Astar." he said with some embarrassment. It was obvious that this woman was the sort that would sneak out of the palace at night for a trip down to the local bar.

"Dev. That's an interesting name. Is it short for something?"

"No, I don't think..." Dev was interrupted by Moff Bailey stepping up to a microphone on a podium in the middle of the room."

"As you all know," Bailey began. "As you all know, a few weeks ago, I was on the supposedly loyal planet of Chandrila with other Imperial officers when a large Rebel force moved in and took control of the city we were staying at."

"Several of my comrades were killed in this atrocious attack. I myself was beaten and interrogated, before these brave young commandoes rescued we survivors and killed over 100 of the Rebel troops."

"We are now gathered here to celebrate and award these men, but first, a toast to those fallen." Everyone bowed their heads in silence. Dev remembered IE-005. He had barely gotten to know the man's name before a cannon bolt struck his turret and killed him.

"Now, we shall celebrate those still among us. Will those members of 2nd squad, Company K please step forward to the podium?"

289, flanked by RD-093 and MC-705 walked onto the platform among a round of applause. They were followed by Dev, 426, and 263. Dev swore that 263's chest almost swelled to double it's size when she got into formation.

"For wounds sustained in Combat with an enemy force, the Imperial High Command wishes to present the Red Moon to Sergeant Major BV-263. In addition, for heroism under fire above and beyond the call of duty, I am proud to present the Imperial Cross of Valor."

Baily took two metals from a case and pinned them on next to her other medals. Beaming with pride, 263 accepted Baily's extended hand and shook it. But there were a few more medals to present and Baily moved on.

"To aide our escape, Specialist RD-093 hot-wired a number of Rebel combat speeders under fire. With great pleasure, may I present the medal of Conspicuous Gallantry."

"You may indeed sir," 093 said, his unremitting humor continuing even during an elaborate ceremony.

As Baily reached to pin the medal on trooper, a sniper round blasted through 093's forehead. 093's eyes bugged as the projectile passed through his brain and hit a stormtrooper behind him in the throat. They both died instantly.

In that moment it took for 093 to hit the ground, 289 was barking orders to the civilians and local stormtrooper garrison. His men already knew what to do.

"EVERYONE DOWN ON THE GROUND!" the trooper bellowed. "703, SPOT THAT SNIPER! 116, TAKE HIM OUT!"

"Jan, stay low to the ground!" Dev yelled. He saw the young woman hug the floor, and was impressed for a second with her ability to stay calm in a crisis.

Another round screamed through the hall and hit a civilian woman in the head. She dropped, as did her husband, an officer, when a third round quickly followed. Dev dove backwards off the platform. He relieved the dead stormtrooper of his rifle and extended the stock. A round boomed by and hit another trooper in the gut. He clutched his mid-section and stumbled towards Dev.

"Geddown dammit!" Dev said, grabbing the wounded man down. "703, where's my target!"

"I need another shot to get an exact position!"

"WE NEED THAT SNIPER NOW!" 289 roared.

Another shot, and another civilian hit the floor.

"Got him! Left 20, Up 50, building to the left, red, moving fast. Looks like a Rodian."

"Sighted. Target's mine," Dev said coldly, looking through the scope.

Dev squeezed the trigger and a bolt flew into the Rodian's side. He stumbled, then fell face-first off the building. Even so, it did not change the fact that five loyal Imperials had been shot and killed.

8?

"That was really amazing what you did," Jan said to Dev as they sit outside on a balcony. A dozen or so synth-skin and bacta patches adorned her face, lacerations from exploding glass.

"Yeah. But that doesn't change the fact that another member of my squad died. I mean, what the bloody hell? We weren't even on deployment. I hardly got to know the guy," he added in a smaller voice.

Jan put her hand on Dev's arm. "You're still alive. Doesn't that count for something?"

"6,500 credits," Dev joked. It fell flat and the both looked down.

"What?"

"Service joke, Jan."

"Oohhh..."

"Well, I had fun tonight."

"Oh! Oh, yeah, me too. Loads of fun," Jan said with a weak laugh. She switched gears. "Look, I'm sorry you lost you're friend. He didn't deserve to die."

"..."

"When are you going?" she asked after a moment.

"We ship out in about 20 minutes, I guess."

"Will it be alright if I write you?"

"No. If ImpCOM doesn't stop the letters, the captain of the _Dawn_ will," Dev said sullenly.

"I'll keep you in mind, Dev Astar."

"You won't see me for at least a year Standard," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"116! Quit fuckin' around with that civilian and let's go! Turke wants to hold a funeral on board the _Dawn._ You're holding up the band wagon!" PG-158 shouted from the groundcoach.

"I'll wait. I think I can do that," Jan said. They locked eyes for a moment. He bent in close...but 426 grabbed him by his uniform collar.

"Turribly sorry, ma'am, turribly. But we really have to go, say 116? Bye now, little miss."

426 pulled Dev close to whisper in his ear. "Don't mess with a Moff's daughter, trooper."

That was all he said. He clambered into the groundcoach. With one last look at Jan's roughened face, Dev boarded the coach and headed for the spaceport.

8?

Later that week, Galactic News reported the sniper incident. Dev and 153 were in their bunks watching it. They were all waiting for the Captain to finish preparations for the funeral, and 153, whom Dev was unfamiliar with but knew he joked a lot, stared at the TV with the same dull, blank look he'd had since the shooting. He and 093 had been best friends.

"_Moff Finus Bailey had this to say when our reporter questioned him: "This minor pinprick into the Empire's will not go unpunished. Know that any Rebelling planets and any further acts of violence and protest will be met with swiftly and efficiently. We will not—_"

153 turned off the holo. He hadn't shaved in several days and his eyes were sunken in.

"You know, 116, pinpricks still draw blood."

"Yeah brother. I know. I know."


	3. SNAFU

1Stormtrooper

Part Three: SNAFU on the _Pride_

A Rebel fleet has been detected with some very sensitive Imperial Cargo. With the help of Imperial Marines, 116 and his squad must board and retake Imperial tech. But things get complicated with Jedi...

Captain Synal of the _Victory-_class Star Destroyer_ Crimson Dawn_ silently re-read the orders she had just been given. They had just arrived, and unlike the usual lengthy Imperial mission orders, this was short and to the point.

_From: Imperial HighCom_

_To: Melissa Synal, Captain, _Crimson Dawn

_Report with all possible haste to Dathomir. Rebel Fleet gathering. Rendezvous with _Iron Fist _and _Heart of Empire_. Be on look out for Rebel cruiser _Pride of Chandrila_. Have Marines stand ready to board and search ship. Specific mission details to be briefed upon arrival._

_–Melissa, I know this is gonna be a tough job. You better get the KIA forms ready on this_ _one._

_–Torm_

"Lt. Page," Synal ordered. "Get Marines from Echo and Fox Companies suited up and ready for boarding operations. And ready a Black Storm team. Lt. Pommel, lay in a heading for the Dathomir system. Lt. Ramsey, prepare the _Dawn _for ship-to-ship. Have the batteries shakedown and get the maintenance boys to check the Tubes for any problems. I want this ship ready to fight an MC-80 to a standstill."

"The Rebels have a fleet?" PG-158 exclaimed when HI-289 arrived at Bunks 5A-8K with their orders. "How in the hell did they get a fleet? They can't even afford adequate armor for their troops."

"The Rebels are more concerned with space battles than actual engagements groundside. For some unknown reason they think that they can actually take the Empire in space and that that will somehow provide a victory in this travesty of war. All this space fighting is gonna phase out hard-working grunts like you and me, ol buddy," came MC-705 from behind them.

"Boarding parties ain't my thing," 158 said. "Just sitting in a metal deathtrap waiting for that one missile that will blow your ass to kingdom come. Nossir, you can leave that happy bullshit to the Marines."

"Relax. 3rd squad is going, with a Marine raiding team. You boys have been hit pretty hard in the last few weeks, so you'll stay here until replacements arrive from Cardia."

"Lovely," 158 said sourly. RD-093, his friend, had been killed by a sniper during a medal ceremony. SE-14R

TX-116, Dev Astar, was sitting on his bunk, a disassembled E-ll in front of him. He quickly re-assembled the rifle, taking twelve minutes. Not fast, not by a longshot, but he wasn't in combat, and a hastily put together rifle that failed was worthless in a combat sit. No, instead the stormtrooper carefully checked to make sure the Galvin circuitry was properly alined and that the X-Citer was getting the correct amount of energy. He made sure the power pack well was clean and the gas chamber clear of any obtrusions. Satisfied that the rifle would not blow up in his face, Dev began to snap the pieces of the weapon back together. Just as he finished putting his rifle back together, the Hyperspace alert sounded throughout the ship. Dev looked up, confused. There wasn't a jump scheduled for today. Or all week. The _Dawn _was supposed to be patrolling the Perlemian trade route. It wasn't unheard of to have unscheduled jumps, but it was slightly irregular in the strict, disciplined Imperial Navy. Dev strapped in and waited for the jump.

The _Crimson Dawn_ shifted out of Hyperspace easily enough. Faster than most Imperial capital ships in Hyperspace, the _Dawn _reached Dathomir in just a few hours. When it reached the system, Capt. Synal ordered to drop out at the edge, rather than closer to the planet, where the Rebels might be waiting. The Captain of the _Iron Fist_, Capt. Reiter greeted Synal and promptly sent a coded data squirt to her ships comm terminal. Melissa's eyes widened as she read the briefing on her screen.

"Lt. Page, have the Marines report to Landing Bay One. And the Black Storm troops. Lt. Ramsey, warm up all batteries. Get the gun crews to their stations."

"All hands, this is the Captain. Battle stations. All hands to battle stations.

MF-565 of the Imperial Marine Corps' Company F, 9th Marine Division, inspected his men. One _Sentinel_-class HLC and two _Theta_-class dropships waited to bring 94 men of Fox onto a waiting Rebel cruiser. Later, reenforcements from Echo would arrive, blasting their way onto the bridge to capture a rouge Jedi. 565 shook his head. Jedi. He heard they'd been wiped out during the purge, but this very mission blew that all to shit.

He thought that maybe he'd try to rouse up his men to fight, but shot down the thought soon as it reared it's head. Every single man in Fox had _BRED FOR WAR!_ laser stenciled on their helmets, and they were lean, mean, killing machines. They needed no inspiration, unlike lesser troops. But this was different. Jedi were involved.

"Captain Synal to Captain 565. Board the transports."

"565 to Captain, copy that," the man responded. "Fox, mount them fuckin' beasts!"

With a war cry, 94 blood-frenzied and battle hardened stampeded onto the transports. Strapping themselves in, they waited to be checked by the ship's coxswain. With a grunt, he nodded in approval. Fox Company anxiously awaited the green light to depart.

"Captain, the _Iron Fist_ has just issued a signal to get into an attack formation and ready fighters," Lt. Byron Haddel, the _Dawn_'s Comm man said from his station.

"Make it so!" She barked.

The three Star Destroyers tightened to an Imperial battle formation as scanners picked up the first of the Rebel ships. A number of Corellian Corvettes, Nebulon-B's, GR-75s, and a variety of smaller, older ships from the Clone Wars and earlier gathered over the overlooked Dathomir. Preliminary reports IDed at least a fifteen ships. 3 to 1 odds, but the two _Imperial–_class ISDs as well as the old powerhouse _Victory_, were a formidable adversary.

"Captain, two of the Corvettes are branching off to intercept us. A Neb just launched three squadrons of X- and Y-wings. Wait one. Four squadrons, one comprised of Z-95s. Capt. Reiter says fire at will. Orders?" Synal's weapons officer asked.

"Have fore tubes one through thirty-five concentrate on the port-most Corvett. Thirty-six through seventy on the starboard one. Ready the quads for a salvo at the Neb-B."

"Transmitting firing solution to other ships. Awaiting your command."

"Fire."

Streaks of light shot towards the accelerating Corvettes, just as they trained their forward batteries on the _Heart of Empire_. They saw the concussion missiles, but in their zeal to attack the Imperials, they had accelerated to maximum speed, allowing no room for maneuvering. All the missiles hit their targets, save one, which collided with an X-wing. The Corvettes' shields flickered and died, and the ships followed suit.

"Launch TIE wings," Synal ordered. "Tell them to stick close to the ship. I want three TIEs to every X-wing, so the shields may be brought down and the fighter destroyed in a single volley."

"Aye aye, ma'am," Lt. Page said as she signaled the pilots.

_Heart of Empire_ went on unimpeded, and destroyed four ships on her own. The _Dawn _and the _Fist_ each claimed another three ships. With more than half the Rebels destroyed in roughly 20 minutes, the _Heart of Empire _went on to pursue the fleeing survivors.

"Ma'am!" Lt. Haddle reported. "_Heart of Empire_ has encountered strange readings and...oh God."

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Synal demanded.

"It's the _Pride of Chandrila_," Haddle said, going white. "It's attacking the _Heart of Empire_."

"Why didn't we pick it up earlier!" Synal barked.

"It was hiding in Dathomir's gravity well ma'am. Wait one," Haddle paused to listen to his headset. "The _Heart of Empire_ has been destroyed ma'am. The Rebel ships are turning around."

The _Pride of Chandrila_ was a powerful MC-80 Mon Calimari cruiser, capable of dukeing it out with a Star Destroyer. With a small fleet of ships behind it, the MC-80 was capable of taking out the Imperial battle group. Not only that, but it was in the hands of three rouge Jedi. Knights Inget Jules and Vos Moutarri, and Padawan Tessa Rey. With their mystical Force, it was never in doubt that they would win in space. But had they been more attuned, they might have foreseen the 196 man surprise that the _Crimson Dawn_ had in store for them.

"Captain to MF-565. You are green."

"Launch this bucket," the Marine captain bellowed to the HLC's pilot.

"Ten to one VI-009 is the buys it first," One Marine, LC-374, joked to his buddy as the Marines' ships roared out of the hangar."

"Yeah, I saw him put on a red shirt under his armor," another Marine snickered. They both nodded at 009, sitting next to the Storm boys, and made an 'off-with-his-head" motion. 009 flipped them off."Can the chit-chat, Jarheads," 565 ordered. "LISTEN UP! The scum-sucking Rebel asslicks on that Mon Cal cruiser have been hiding an unknown number of traitorous Jedi. Ya'll know Intel."

He paused to let them laugh, then continued.

"The Rebs also have the nasty habit of blowing up Star Destroyers and stealing classified Imp tech. Needless to say, this is a goddamned high-pri mission. I mean, sake-of-your-grandkids, so fuckin' important that to keep us silent after we complete it, we gonna get shifted to some nowhere, dead-end sector no one's ever heard of or cares about."

"They say the Jedi can influence minds, predict things before they happen, hell, even pick you up or crush your windpipe with a single thought. Shit, these little cocksuckers have been brought up since they was four to be peacekeepers. But they ain't the only ones. What has Fox Company been, ladies?"

"Bred for war!"

"I'm sorry. I can't hear YOU!"

"BRED FOR WAR!" the Marines roared. "ROCK AND ROLL! PENATRATE AND ANNIALATE!"

"Since Day One. Ooh-rah," 565 said just before an X-wing slammed into the _Sentinel_'s cockpit.

Jordi Hannas tore through space, a pissed off Eyeball right on his tail. Green lasers streaked past his canopy bubble, leaving long gashes in his ship's nose. Today, he had boarded his snub, confident that he would be painting six or seven tallies on his fuselage when he docked.

The overconfident Imps had only sent three Destroyers to eliminate the Rebel ships. _Maybe they weren't overconfident, just misinformed, _Hannas thought as a piece of Nebulon-B whizzed past. Still, the MC-80 cruiser and the rest of the 2nd Liberation Fleet would take care of the Imps in short order. The Rebels may have only had a few hundred ships, but they were armed and they stuck together. And the X-wings were superior in many ways to the 'agile and fragile' Imp TIEs, with not the least reason being the proton torpedo tubes.

He had taken down six TIEs, but this last one was _good_. He didn't over-accelerate or perform tricky stunts that only worked in holovids, and he took his time. It seemed that this particular pilot had Hannas' scent and was hell bent on taking the young Reb out.

"Blue-3 to Blue Group, is anyone out their?" Hannas asked with a little more fear than he'd hoped. But only static answered him.

"Blue-3 to any Alliance fighters, I have an Eyeball on my six, cannot shake. I need help!"

"Blue-3, this is Gold Leader. We have you on scanners. ETA, forty seconds."

Another streak of green flashed off Hannas' port engines. He looked back, trying to see the TIE for himself rather than trust his scanners. As he rubbernecked, he failed to notice the Imperial HLC and MBCs. He never even felt the collision, but the 54 Marines did, and the two pilots sure as hell did.

The first thing that Captain 565 of the Imperial Marines noticed, oddly enough, was the pristine beauty of the stars. Then the Leatherneck realized that he should not be seeing stars from the inside of a sealed troop compartment. In only moments, he was bellowing orders to unstrap.

"Get out! Get them fuckin' straps off, 832! 354, you help him. We gotta get clear of this tub."

This proved to be unwise. The inertia that the spinning _Sentinel_ had from its collision threw the three un-strapped Marines against the bulkheads, and sent 354, who was closest to the gapping hole that was previously a cockpit, out into space. 565 isolated 354's freq on the command net and eliminated it

"Getcher Mags on ladies!",the Captian barked telling the Marines to activate the magnets in their boots. "Once this bucket slows down enough, we gotta jump for the nearest open hanger bay.

Risky though this was, impossibly risky, the defenses of the _Pride_ or other Rebel ship would shred the pilotless, defenseless, HLC. And the internal oxygen supply of regular stormtrooper suits was only 15 minutes. The turrets might catch some of the Marines, and some might miscalculate and end up pulling a 354.

565 wasn't inclined to send his Marines hurdling to their deaths without a fight, but even if they didn't board a ship, at least the two _Theta_s would get the job done. As he moved towards the slowly rotating vacuum, 565 suddenly noticed that the eight Black Storm men were gone. His gaze drifted down to settle upon a man split roughly in half vertically. Black shards of armor drifted around the man.

His men finally finished unstrapping. "First four forward."

565 figured that about five men could fit through the hole. He peeked out and couldn't believe his luck. The _Pride_. Not 400 meters away. Right in the Marines' sights.

"Go!" he said. "Act like you're just a useless damn floating corpse. Next five jump in four seconds."

"Running high on the Fifteen," Cpl. IE-362 warned.

"Noted," 565 said nauseously. The sudden vastness of space made even Marines queasy.

"Sir! Incoming fire!" one of the Marines yelled.

Red bolts from the MC-80's turbolasers, as well as a number of particle cannon rounds flew at the drifting Marines. One, YR-941, was hit and vaporized. The rest impacted on the HLC's wreckage, obliterating it and the Marines still onboard as well as a Marine still jumping.

565 would have told his men to maintain comm silence, because that must have been how the Rebels located them. Too many human-sized pieces of metal and organic material dotted the proximity of the ship for it to detect moving Marines. But he didn't so that the Rebels thought he had drifted out and the transmissions were coming from inside the destroyed _Sentinel_. He hoped his men had the same presence of mind.

They were approaching the shield of one of the _Pride's_ hangars. 565 spread his arms and legs to look like a corpse, and his 8 remaining men followed suite.

"Hey, look at that, Wes," Jens Hanotar said.

Wes Ossik peered through the forcefield at the outside.

"'Ell I'll be damned," Wes said. "Stormtroopers."

"_Dead_ Stormtroopers, old buddy," Jens laughed, adjusting his cursed blast helmet. Why'd he even need a damn helmet on a cruiser, Jens would never know. "Why the hell we need helmets anyfor Wes?"

"I dunno. Case we get boarded or sumthin'."

Wes paused as he turned to stride back to his post. "Hey, are they supposed to be coming towards us like that?"

"They're dead, Wes. They're not supposed to do anything."

"Yeah, I guess. But that one right there. In front, you see? He's got his rifle right at us.

"I don't care how much they look like droids, or even if they are still holding weapons. You can't survive in a vacuum in armor, you dolt." Jens eyes lit up. "Say, if they drift in here, you think the Captain'd let us keep their armor?"

The barrel of the E-11 pushed through the forcefield as Jens finished his thought. Without warning, it discharged into Jens' surprised face.

565 let himself align with the Rebel's stupid, ignorant face. _Only a few seconds to live, scum_, the Marine captain thought with smug satisfaction. Once the barrel was in, he fired point-blank at the Rebel's face. He switched and blasted the other Rebel before he could even raise his pistol. They dropped to the ground, blasters clattering beside them.

"We're Red-lining, sir!" 362 said. The Marines were almost out of air.

"Everybody, in!"

The nine surviving Marines hit the deck as they were suddenly re-introduced to gravity. 565 made sure that the empty bay was devoid of any more Rebel troopers, then tried to contact the rest of the strike team. Establishing a link to the _Dawn_ and the other Marines would be critical for their survival, and without the signal relay of the HLC, there was no way to contact the ship.

But they could still talk to Marines within 500 meters. "565 to boarding party, does anyone receive?"

There was a surprised voice on the other end of the line. "Sir? Sgt. 322, here. We've bogged down in the landing bay. What happened to the other half of the company?"

"Not your concern Sergeant. Can you link me up to the _Dawn_?"

"I'll have the CommTech get ri….fuck!" 565 could hear blasterfire in the background. It was answered by the throaty roar of the E-11s. "Yes sir, I'll get right on it. We have 13 casualties, eight KIA, five WIA."

"Carry on trooper."

Sons of a bitch, this was not good. He'd just lost 57 men in a matter of minutes, over 50 casualties. Totally unacceptable. He had to get his men home in one piece.

"Sir. I have Capt. Synal," 322 huffed. He sounded out of breath.

"Put her through trooper." It took only seconds.

"Captain 565? What in the hell is going on over there? We lost contact with the HLC, and one of the _Theta_ pilots radioed you'd been struck by incoming fire."

"Collision, ma'am. Took out the pilots and the Black Storm boys. I had planned to jump out and board an enemy ship, and we lost another man, 354, into space. Enemy noticed us, took out the HLC before we were all out. We managed to board the _Pride_, but we're on the wrong side of the ship. Our hangar bay is secure, for the time being.

"How many men do you have with you, Captain?" Synal asked, voice low.

"Eight, ma'am."

Captain Melissa Synal was in a fret. Over forty men from her ships compliment, as well as 19 pilots, plus 6 men from the gunnery unit were dead. As well as eight of the highly trained Black Storm commandoes, though that was hardly their fault.

She could send in another Black Storm squad, seeing as the Jedi were an extremely delicate situation, wanted alive and all. The Marines had a tendency to leave very little standing when they were through with a job. But sixteen dead commandoes was a very expensive price for the Empire, and she knew heads would roll already for this shit-brained op.

Synal made her decision. It was hard, but it had to be done.

"Lt. Page? Inform HI-289's squad that they are to report to Hanger bay 3 for immediate departure."

Dev had barely had time to fall asleep when PG-158 burst into their bunk.

"116! Get up! 3rd squad's been killed! We're going in!"

Dev jerked upright. An entire squad, killed by a motley group of ship-board Rebels? Like bloody hell. Dev could only manage a weak "What?"

"Suit up! Seal your suit, and bring along maneuvering jets! 289 wants us in Hangar Bay 3 ten minutes ago."

Dev was already strapping his armor onto his bodysuit. He placed his rifle into its holster and tried to put his shoulder plates on and run at the same time. He was right on 158's heels, trailing the other trooper as the rest of the squad started to accumulate behind Dev. By the time they got there, all six of the squad was behind 158. The reached their _Theta_ flushed. Commander Turke was waiting for them.

"I just want you troopers to know that I personally was with 3rd squad since their Indoctrination Day. Get some." With that, their CO turned heel and retreated to the elevators.

"I love his pep talks," 158 quipped, nudging Dev. "Really gets me psyched."

"Belay the micky mouse," 289 said. "We got Marines to save. But when we get back, you can share that comment with Commander Turke."

158 gulped.

It went against everything in MF-565's book to leave the landing bay. He only had eight Marines. Enough to take a frigate, sure, but this was a cruiser. He'd need another five.

But something was drawing him towards the double pressure doors of the bay. Something…odd. He was wary of Jedi mind tricks, and was concerned this could be one. He hadn't heard from the rest of the boarding party in half an hour, and had tried to contact them with no avail. He feared they were dead, that the Rebels had bleed off their air. Or, if that happened, they might have just left. Unbeknownst to MF-565, the 27 surviving Marines of the party had been captured.

He motioned BD-491 to cover him. Hand signals were much safer at this point. He had to find out what lay beyond those doors, Rebels or not. Jedi or not. The other Marines crouched down behind crates, ready to lay deadly fire into any enemy counter-boarding teams. Just as 565 and 491 reached the doors, a single command echoed through the crouched Marines' heads. _Sleep…._

The clatter of armor and rifles turned 491 around. 565 heard it too, and they both snapped their rifles up. Something very wrong was going on, and if it was gas, then their NBC filters would have kicked in. 565 suspected filthy Jedi mind tricks.

The door _wooshed_ open as the Marines were turned. A golden shaft of light swung out, slicing 491 in half. In a split second, 565 turned and fired into the owner's hand. The lightsaber dropped to the ground, and a young man in his mid-20s was on his knees, clutching his smoking limb.

565 kicked the lightsaber away, and leveled the E-11 at the traitor. The Jedi threw his hand up.

"Stop!" he said weakly.

A faint voice echoed the same thing in his head. Damnable Jedi. Still, 565 held his fire.

"Put your weapon down."

"I'm going to put my weapon down," 565 echoed. Suddenly, he felt very blissful. The voice seemed to grow stronger, like a gruff old uncle.

"You feel quite tired. You could use a nap"

"I'm feeling pretty beat. I want to take a nap."

"You want to join your comrades. They are also taking a nap."

"How comes they get all the fun? I want a nap to."

"You don't want to hurt me or anyone on this ship. All you want to do is sleep."

"Wrong." 565 put three quick shots into the Jedi before he could react. He keeled over, burnt flesh tainting the air with its foul odor. The day any scum like that thought he was weak-minded and still a Marine captain was the day that said scum was sent home in a body bag. "That was one of _my_ Marines, asshole."

Much as he'd like to set out and find to rest of the Jedi, 565 knew his obligation lay with his men. Leaving knocked out Marines on a Rebel ship was murder, and MF-565 would defend his men till death.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Dev managed. The bouncing and jouncing from the MBC's fire evasion was making his teeth rattle.

"Of course. The Army always has to pull the Marines' asses out of the fire. Think of how much they'll owe us."

"No, 158, I mean the Jedi. They're real hardcore."

"It's time to put them in their place then. I don't see how waving an energy blade around and spouting mystical nonsense compares with a blaster at your side and a vibro in your hand," BV-263 said.

"Okay then. Time o' the month, I reckon. Second question. What sort of 'classified Imp tech' are we looking for?"

"Don't matter," US-426 snorted. "It's probably in a box marked "Galactic Empire Secret Weapon. Do not fuckin' disturb."

"Aptly put, 426," MC-705 said. "But I think the mission is to find the Marines and capture the Jedi, if there's any left onboard that floating hulk."

Another turbolaser flashed by. The MBC's scorched armor was beginning to heat the troop bay uncomfortably.

"Pilot to 289. We've almost cleared their grid of fire. Hangar ETA four seconds."

"GET SOME!" 705 yelled with gusto.

"We're in the bay! Gogogo!"

With a mighty battle cry, the commandoes ran down the ramp, firing their rifles. Red bolts flashed, gorging huge gashes in the deck and bulkheads.

"Cease fire, cease fire!" 289 yelled after a while. The deck was deserted. No Marines. No Rebels. No Jedi. Only a few Reb snubs.

"HI-289 to any allied Imperial forces, come in over." Only static.

"HI-289 of Black Storm Squadron to any Imperial forces, come back. Over."

"Try cycling the frequencies sir," 426 suggested.

On the fourth freq they finally received a reply. "HI-289, this is MF-565 of the Imperial Marines. Sitrep, el-tee.

"We're in a deserted hangar bay, from the looks of it, sir. Where are your Marines?"

"Other side of the ship, 289. I am under heavy attack by Rebel counter-boarding teams. I have them pinned, but am running low on ammunition. Send a reinforcement squad to my location."

"Sir? We're the only ones here."

"What'd you say, trooper? Download it."

"There's no sign of the other Marines, sir. Captain Synal is refusing to send more Marines until she knows what the situation is."

"Damn. Last power pack. HI-289, these are your orders. While the Rebels are busy with my team, you are to proceed with the mission. Do not come looking for us, and do not jeopardize the mission for us. Find the Jedi and the Imp tech. Get back to the _Theta_ and get the hell back to the _Dawn_. The window is closing, and the _Dawn_ will happily blow the hell out of this ship."

"Yes sir," 289 said reluctantly. He switched to the Team Freq. "705, 116, and 158, find and secure the tech. 426 and 263, with me. We're going Jedi hunting."

"Yes sir!"

Dev, 705, and 158 moved down an eerie corridor. Well lighted, but lacking a human (Or alien) presence. There was no telling where the Rebels might be, but Dev had a strong feeling that they were on the bridge or somewhere close. It was a big ship, and there were many places to hide. And many unseen eyes.

"Three of the Imps are heading towards the cargo hold. The other three are looking for you two," said a Rebel technician at his security station.

"I sense a great deal of hostilities from them, Master,"Tessa Rey said.

"Patience, Padawan. We will be victorious,"Inget Jules said. "Their blasters and training are no match for the Force."

"Of course, Master. It was definitely a good idea to have the crew relocate to the bridge area."

"Indeed. I am, however, concerned about this stormtrooper unit in Bay One. He alone has held off our troops, and the rest of his men are starting to awake. I think that it would be wise if you were to go down and disarm him."

"It will be done, Master,"Tessa vowed.

MF-565 was in some serious shit now. His armor had pretty near been blown apart. He only had one shoulder plate and most of the stuff below his waist. The chest plate had cracked off, and the black body suit now shone through. And now he was down to his pistol and vibro.

A Rebel poked his head through the door and 565 snapped off a shot. The Rebel flew back, face burned off. The charge on the SC-14 read 10. Ten shots and another couple of power packs before going hand to hand with the scum. A flurry of bolts kept the Marines head down. They must have known he was running low on ammo. Well. _While they dump power packs into nothing, I believe I'll liberate 284 of his rifle._ 565 grabbed his fallen comrade's rifle and waited for the bolts to stop.

"Attention stormtrooper!" a feminine voice boomed. Sounded young. "Drop your weapon and surrender! We will do you or your troops no harm."

Surrender? A Marine? His blue balls. His men began to stir. They were waking. He needed to buy them enough time to regain full consciousness.

"Attention Rebel scum! This is Captain MF-565 of the Imperial Marines! I have you surrounded and outgunned. If you surrender now, I promise you a quick death!" He punctuated his declaration with a concussion grenade.

284 began to rise. 565 restrained him, and a Rebel blaster bolt grazed 284's helmet.

"What's going on sir," the confused Marine asked.

"We're still in the docking bay. Another Storm team has boarded the ship, and Rebel CBs have us pinned. I've had to use most of our power packs. You and 973 have rifle rounds, every else down to side arms. All we need to do is hold on for the rescue team."

"Sounds good sir," KN-973 murmured. He grabbed his rifle without turning from his captain.

Then the unexpected. Their weapons flew from their hands as if by magic. They landed behind the Rebels. The nine Marines were now defenseless, just as the last one awoke.

"Sons of a bitch sir! What do we do now? Fix bayonets?"

"Not a bad idea, son," 565 said rising. He withdrew his fighting knife from its sheath. The wicked 13 inch blade gleamed in the hangars lights. "FOR THE EMPIRE!" 565 screamed as he charged the Rebels.

Three bolts hit him almost simultaneously. He felt his side flame up in the armor's absence. The Marine captain fell, watching the white boots of his men as they rushed past, yelling and screaming battle cries. They were all gunned down except for KN-973. He reached the Rebels and began to stab and slash viciously. Two Rebs collapsed, clutching their necks before 973 was beaten into submission.

565 registered a female voice above him. He groped for his knife, hoping that she didn't wasn't paying attention.

"We've captured the stormtroopers, Master,"Tessa said. The bold one who shot so many Alliance soldiers and killed a Jedi stirred pitifully at Tessa's boots. His helmet was cracked, and it looked up at her. His shaking arm clutched a nasty-looking blade. A soldier leveled his blaster at the man.

"Want me to take him out too, ma'am?" the soldier asked. He couldn't hide the eagerness in his voice.

"No. We'll take him to Master Jules for interrogation,"Tessa said.

"Jackpot!" Dev said. They were in the cargo bay. It was massive, but the stormtroopers quickly enough found a large crate bearing the Imperial crest. "Looks important."

"Whaddya think it is?" 705 asked.

"Who cares. Let's grab it and go," 158 said. "You guys can carry it, being so intrigued about it and all."

Dev holstered his rifle and picked up one end of the crate. 705 grumbled, put grabbed the other end and hoisted it up. Whatever it was, it was very heavy and probably very fragile.

A staccato of bolts launched from the catwalks above the commandos, two striking 158 in the back. A concussion grenade was primed and dropped.

"Cover!" Dev yelled. He grabbed 158 by the arm and dragged him to safety. The grenade exploded behind him, knocking Dev flat on his back. The crate tipped, nearly crushing 705. 705's hastily returned shot missed the Rebel and scorched the bulkhead behind her.

Dev propped 158 so he was sitting up, and checked the trooper to make sure he was still alive.

"Man, you alright?" Dev asked. He didn't want to remove 158's helmet in a firefight, and Dev didn't have a tally scanner to check 158's vitals.

"Yeah," 158 groaned. "Don't waste time with me, get the Rebels."

Dev hobbled over to 705, half crouched. Red blaster bolts, from Rebel DH-17s struck the immediate area around the stormtroopers. A hasty return shot from Dev scorched the arm of one of the Rebels, but so far, no one had been killed.

Something from the tipped Imperial crate caught Dev's eye. It looked like a sub-machine gun, but it had a long, slender stock, and a short bulky barrel. Dev could see solid projectile ammunition inside. He managed to grab the weapon without blowing his arm off, and began to study it.

After a few seconds, he found the safety and toggled to automatic. Dev shouldered the carbine/SMG. It was big, too big for a normal human. Probably had a bitch of a recoil too. Dev swung out, and squeezed the trigger.

He was right. There as a tremendous kick-back from the weapon. Dev fought to control it, trying to keep it straight. Dozens of rounds streaked towards the Rebels. The first Reb's head was blasted apart, painting a nightmarish painting on the ceiling. Within seconds, they were all dead. Dev and 705 were silent for a moment, still absorbing the raw power of the SMG/carbine.

"Well, I've gotta get me one of those," 705 said, whistling. He began to pick up 158 as Dev flipped the crate back over. He made sure it was sealed, and they threw 158 on top of it. 705 hoped they'd be able to make it back to the landing bay without being shot.

MF-565's head was swimming. He couldn't see to well, dark figures obscuring his vision. Finally, after roughly eight minutes, the shapes began to blur together, forming a hazy image of his location.

He appeared to be on a bridge of some kind. Then there was an acute sense of _probing_, as if his brain was being picked. 565 steeled his mind and focused on irrelevant tid-bits of information to defeat the brain scanner.

_You're not being scanned. You want to tell me Imperial shield frequencies._

"I bloody well do not," 565 said outloud.

_Of course you do. You've been left for dead. Betrayed by the Empire._

"Never!" 565 whispered fiercely.

_They sent your men on a suicide mission. They're all dead. Because of the Empire._

"We knew what we were getting into," 565 said matter-of-factly.

_Deep down you knew that no one was coming back. Except for you. You always come back, don't you? Always alone._

"I admit I have a remarkable survival record. I also think we've established your silly tricks don't work, so drop the facade."

_This is no trick. This is your conscience telling you what you already know_.

"HA! I shot that sumbitch in the face a long time ago."

_Think what you will..._

"I think that you should QUIT EYEBALLIN' ME!"

The voice didn't answer. Seeing he had momentarily confused the Jedi, 565 went on a murderous mind-rampage, sending out violent, twisted thoughts and memories. The first time he stabbed someone. The first women he killed. The first child. The first maiming, then the next, then the one after that. His Drill Instructor's 'demonstration' of a disrupter.

"He is resilient, Master," Tessa said. She held a cool cloth to her Master's head. The _Pride_ rocked with missile and turbolaser fire. Return fire and counterbattery made dull thumps on the bridge.

"Ma'am! Incoming missiles!" The Ops officer shrieked. His fish-like eyes swivelled rapidly as the Mon Cal tried to vaporize the incoming missiles.

"The fleet is almost completely destroyed, ma'am! We're sounding a general retreat into hyperspace," the Comm officer announced. His face was torn by shrapnel from exploding instrument panels.

"Slave us to the rest of the Fleet," Jules said faintly.

"Aye aye. Making compu–," the helmsman was cut off as a blue rings enveloped him. Stun shots. More rings discharged before Tessa could bring her lightsaber up. Within mere seconds, two stormtroopers had disabled two Jedi and the bridge crew of an MC-80.

"423 to 289, we found the last Marine. Bridge incapacitated, as are the Jedi. Should we bring any prisoners?"

"That's a negative, 423. We've only got so much space. Grab the Jedi and the Marine and head back to ship. You have 90 seconds."

423 traded looks (to a limited extent. When everyone around you wears the same, identical helmet, trading looks is tough) with 263 but they began to awkwardly haul the three people to the hanger bay. The didn't need to worry about crew interference anymore.

HI-289 let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. The were out of time, and just as they were about to dust off, two crazy troopers in death black armor dragging three people with them hobbled their way onto the MBC.

The packed in and roared out of the hangar. The pilots barely managed to avoid friendly Imperial fire that battered the MC-80. Long gashes began to appear in the _Pride's _hull. The other ships were allowed to leave, as the cruiser currently held more priority.

MF-565 rolled his bruised head over to look to see which of his Marines lined the narrow floor space and was pleased to see that KN-973 and Sgt. SM-322 were beaten but alive. The captain was saddened and angered that he only had 21 of his 94 man company left, however.

"Captain Synal, the rescue party reports that all mission objectives have been satisfied. All the surviving Marines have been recovered, and the dead have been detonated."

"Is the Captain alright?" Synal asked, injecting more concern than she meant to into her question. She tried to cover it up. "I need to see his mission de-briefing and any armor tallies that they managed to recover."

"Yes ma'am," Lt. Page responded. "Captain MF-565 is alive, but in need of medical attention."

"Excellent. Send a transmission to the _Fist_, and tell them that we have recovered the 'Sensitive Imperial Cargo.'"

"Right away, Captain," Lt. Page whistled happily.

Colonial Blott raced through the Imperial High Command in a 'manner unbefitting of a commissioned officer of the Imperial Army', but the piece of flimsi he had in his hand contained a very important message. Col. Blott reached his destination and buzzed the quarters.

"Come," a deep, commanding voice said.

"General Mohc, sir," Blott huffed. "I have a report from the _Iron Fist_. Project 'Dark Trooper' materials have been recovered from a Rebel fleet at Dathomir."

"Excellent. I had complete faith in the 354th Commando."

"Sir, one of the troopers assigned to the 354th also used one of the prototypes in combat."

"And?" Mohc asked. His interest was peaked.

"Successful sir. Said trooper, TX-116/4593, used a prototype to take out an entire Rebel squad in seconds."

"Really? The weapons preform even better than expected then?"

"Yes, General," Blott said.

"You are dismissed, Col. Blott."

"Yes, General."

"So, Pvt. 116," Captain said. They were in her ready room, Dev in his service uniform, with HI-289 and a Marine guard looking on. "I understand that you rescued your comrade PG-158, and used an experimental weapon to take down the Rebel force that pinned your team down, then managed to get him and all the Imperial equipment off the ship?

"Yes ma'am. What any trooper would have done."

"Excellent. El-tee, I believe your trooper has shone leadership qualities. Make him a corporal. I'll have the paperwork ready in the morning."

"Aye, Captain," 289 said. "I think he fits the bill just fine."

Dev nearly burst out of his seems. He was being promoted! And he would be able to order 705 and 158 around! The boys would flip when they found out about this.

"Splendid. Take a break, men. I have a feeling the next mission is going to be a lot tougher. Dismissed. You too, 541."

When the troopers had left, Melissa Synal let her smile drop off and die. She had a lot of KIA forms to go through, too many. Synal picked up her stylus and began filling out those, and the forms that Vader would see detailing the two captured Jedi. The Dark Lord always liked new targets for lightsaber practice.


	4. ISO

Stormtrooper Part IV- ISO: In Search Of (the Death Star plans)

Okay, I know that this, like the other chapters, has a sucky title. To be honest with you all, I really didn't want to do this chapter. I hate it almost as much as I hated writing Ch.2. But I needed to move the plot along, yadda yadda yadda.

_Dedicated to Frank J. Hanszeck, 19 March 1924-----19 July 2006_

_Seven months have passed since the Dathomir Raid. Corporal TX-116 has been reassigned with his squad from Black Storm to the _IMPERIAL SABOTAGE/ESPIONAGE CORPS (ISEC)_. Following the decimation of the Imperial base at Danuta, and the theft of plans detailing the Empire's latest superweapon, the _DEATH STAR_, the ISEC is sending out teams of agents to sniff out and destroy Rebel bases, both local and Outer Rim outposts, but their primary objective is the recovery of the plans before the Rebel Fleet can obtain them. The plans have been traced to Imperial deserter _KYLE KATARN_. With time running out, Katarn must be found before he can reach the Rebel outpost on Polis Massa. Unbeknownst to the men and women of 1st Squad, Company K, 354th Commando, the fate of the galaxy is in their hands..._

_Dear Dev_

_I suppose this is kind of a surprise, me writing to you and all. I had a hell of a time finding out where you were, but I had daddy pull some strings. Things have carried on, and everyone's forgotten about the sniper. Everyone except me. It got me thinking: What have I done so far with my life? I mean, I'm basically a pampered princess. I've always had everything handed to me. I need to do something important with my life before I die. So guess what? I enlisted! That's right. You're looking at the Imperial Navy's next ace. You'll never believe this, but I somehow managed to pass all the entrance exams and reaction tests for flight school. I'm gonna be a fighter pilot! As you're reading this, I'm already at Cardia, working to be the best I can be. I know, sounds like typical government crap, but I think I've actually come along way, as far as maturing and taking care of myself. I can't wait to get assigned, and if I play my cards right, we might just 'happen' to end up serving on the same ship. Feel free to write or vid me anytime, unless I'm busy with these gorgeous hunks of cadets. Just kidding!_

_--Jan_

_PS: They told me what the joke was behind 6,500 credits. That wasn't funny._

116 rubbed his temples. So much for secrecy. If a 20-something civilian could find out where a Priority One Black-Ops mission was, then they might as well pack up and shove off. This incoming transmission could have already jeopardized the mission. Oh, was 289 going to give him an earful. 116 saved the letter to a memstick and deleted the message. He could respond when they finished the mission.

MC-705 stuck his head in the door of the civilian quarters that had been used as a staging area up until now. "Briefing in four, Corporal. 289 wants to make sure we all know the op-ord for this job. And he wants to know why you've been getting love letters from your girlfriend when we are in the middle of launching the most important raid in the history of the Empire."

"She's not my girlfriend, 705. For that, smart-ass, extra duty, one week. I want those 'freshers so clean that Lord Vader would eat off them. Got it? Garrison duty's gonna be fun, neh?"

"You lousy little prick! After all we've been through!"

116 just tapped his arm where the chevrons would have been and smiled.

"Of course. As ordered, Corporal," 705 said sarcastically.

"Any day now," Sgt. Maj. BV-263 said from the other room. She had looked most...unpleasant at the thought of mixing in with the Rebels, even if it was only for a few days.

116, 705, and 263 joined the other members of their shortened squad. PG-158, who had gradually come to accept 116 into the squad, had become bitter again when 093's replacement turned out to be a short, stocky kid fresh out of the academy. 116 tried to remind himself that a mere eight months ago he'd been in 719's boots, but he did have four missions under his belt.

The rest of the commando squad consisted of US-426, a jack-of-all-trades kind of man who was an expert in hand to hand combat, and HI-289, their CO. Their ranks were inconsistent with their positions, i.e. a lieutenant leading a squad, and a sergeant major in said squad, but being a commando had it's privileges.

"Okay, first off, no more love letters, or any other transmissions to be sent during the course of this op. 116." 116 grinned sheepishly, but didn't bother correcting the el-tee. It didn't make a difference.

"As you all know, ex-lieutenant Kyle Katarn raided the top-secret Imperial outpost on Danuta. We're not sure how, but he infiltrated the base via the elevator shaft, and proceeded to slaughter the entire base. Over 60 Imperials were killed. He then stole the plans for the Emperor's latest superweapon. The Death Star."

"Sir, I've never heard of any...death star," FH-719 called from the back.

"Who said _you_ would, New Guy?" 426 snorted. "It's common knowledge to those of us who actually _earned_ the Black Bolt (the Black Storm unit patch)."

"Can it, 426. He obviously earned it if Turke put him with us. And we're not Bravo-Sierra's anymore. As I was saying...right then. Katarn fled Danuta with the technical readouts of the Death Star, before stopping off here, at Eriadu, right under the Empire's nose."

"It is of the _upmost_ importance that this succeeds. If the Rebels have themselves these readouts, they will undoubtably find a way to exploit it. You've seen what those clever little bastards can do when given even half a chance. Our mission is to infiltrate their base, gain their trust, locate Katarn and his ship and recapture the plans, 'deal' with Katarn, signal the _ISD Fallen _for extraction, which will then bombard the planet from orbit."

"This operation will be executed five-fold. First, two of you will accompany me to a pre-determined rendezvous point, where we will meet with elements of the Rebel underground. If all goes well, one of my accomplices will return and get the rest of you. We will then proceed to the Rebel base, and attempt to discreetly discover the location of Katarn's ship, the _Moldy Crow_. Afterwards, we will exfil with all precautions...705...and leave the planet via a loyalist Imperial freighter crew."

"What guise will we be operating under, suh?" 719 queried from the back of the room.

"So glad that someone is paying attention. We will be arms smugglers, looking to sell a shipment of stolen Imperial weaponry," 289 punctuated his point by lifting a crate of Imperial T-21 LRBs (Light Repeating Blasters). "Don't worry, they're fitted with tracers. I don't care how ingenious the little buggers can seem, they're always in a hurry to distribute any acquired weaponry."

"This brings me to my next point. Imp HighCom had decided that we will no longer give the Rebellion 'half a chance.' Effective immediately, the Tarkin Doctrine will become the Empire's official Rebel protocols. That means no prisoners unless ordered. That also means that we have to plant a beacon inside the Rebels' base. Which, in turn, means that our life expectancy has dropped to nigh-zero. Look, this needs to be by the numbers, strictly business, or no one goes home. We have only have a window of...41 Standard hours and 47 minutes. Questions?"

705 raised his hand. 289 sighed, but called on him anyway.

"How the good bloody hell do I get out of this outfit? Is there a form I need to sign?"

"Any questions about the briefing?" 289 asked, shaking his head.

"Sir, won't the Tarkin Doctrine incite a more anti-Empire sentiment among the protesting civilian populace? Especially if we execute prisoners?" 116 asked.

"Any questions relating to the damn _mission_?"

"Yeah. Why is did HighCom send us this chickenshit recruit if we have Priority One situation?" 426 asked.

"That 'chickenshit recruit' was the top of his class in Infiltration and Sabotage, Sergeant."

"Oh, well excuse me. If I'm not mistaken, wasn't 116 top of his Marksmen class? Took him...what 705, four, five rounds to put down that Togorian on Ambria?"

"Five. Five rounds to ice an overgrown cat," 705 nodded.

"Oh, give me a break. That bastard had a personal shield and you know it."

"I'll tell you what I know, Cpl. 116. You should definitely **not**leave a picture of such a beautiful young woman lying around when you share a bunk with me," 426 laughed, procuring a picture of Jan from somewhere in his civilian tunic.

"Where did you get that?" 116 asked angrily, making a lunge at 426. "Keep away from the Rookie!" he shouted, zinging the picture towards 158.

"Aw, dammit! Looking good, 116. She got any sisters?" 158 asked before tossing it at 705.

"It came with the letter, mate. You should really watch your mail," 705 said, just before 116 tackled him and wrestled the picture away from his him.

"NEK PILE!" 158 and 426 called, and dived onto the two struggling commandoes. The four of them wrestled and fought each other, acting more like a pack of rabid six-year-olds than a team of highly trained, lethal killing machines.

"You see? You see? You see what I have to put up with EVERY DAY, sir? This is why I requested a transfer. Those four." She shook her head. "Come on, New Guy. It would appear that you and I are the only ones left sane enough in this room to accompany the el-tee. Hopefully, they won't screw anything up and get us all horribly maimed/killed. But I doubt that. Actually, wait. 116!"

The trooper jumped up and mock saluted. "YES MA'AM!"

"You're coming with us."

"I am?" 116 asked. He'd been hoping to spend the day taking 158's money at sabacc.

"He is?" 289 echoed. 116 was a sharpshooter, a soldier. Someone that killed for a living. In other words, he wasn't cut out for sneaking around.

"Just a precaution sir."

"Fine," 289 said. He dug into a suitcase, pulling out three wigs and distributing them to the team. "They have a 30-hour adhesive. Make sure they get on strait. We've only got one shot at this."

A Rebel agent informed Brett Spinner the moment the three arms smugglers had reached the meeting point. He eyed them as he approached, feeling slightly secure that their were over a dozen Rebels armed with blasters and clubs in case the three turned out to be Imperial spies. They looked normal enough, three humans, one female, two males. The female had long black hair, while both the males wore theirs short, but not short enough to be mistaken for troops on leave.

Brett closed with them, and almost nonchalantly said "I hear Kashyyk is lovely this time of year."

"That it is stranger. But you should watch out for the web-weavers."

Then these three _were_ the contacts after all. If Brett played the cards right, a large number of military-grade Imperial weaponry would fall into his hands. This little transaction would be all the Eriadu Rebels would need to start their overthrow of the Imperial garrison.

The man who had spoken extended his hand. Brett found it a little unnerving that the man didn't seem to blink. At all. Nor did his two buddies.

"Do you mind if we take this somewhere a little more private?"

"Sure. Where did you have in mind?"

"Follow me," Brett said, gesturing towards a pub at the end of the street. The three strange smugglers unquestioningly followed Brett. They walked for about 15 minutes, not talking, moving anything but their legs and eyes, and not blinking. That's what drove Brett crazy.

"So," he said when the odd little posse had a table. "What are you selling Mr., uh...?"

"Fuller. Haden Fuller. And this is Jack Raek and Danni Leth. What are you interested in?"

"Weapons."

"What kind of weapons is the good sir looking for?" Fuller pressed.

"The Imperial kind. Heavy duty."

"Ah. And there it is. I can get Imp firepower. My only concern is, to be frank, what you intend to do with this."

"What the customer does with his merchandise is hardly the concern of the seller," Brett countered.

"When innocent people could get hurt the seller makes it his business," 'Haden' said. There was some truth in that; he didn't want to be responsible for supplying Rebels with weapons so they could kill Loyalist Imperials.

Brett nodded, thinking 289 was talking about civilians. He motioned for 289 to lean in close. "Okay, I guess you're on the level. We're going to stage an uprising. And we almost have enough supplies to do it. We just need some heavy infantry weapons to support the ground troops."

289 was stunned. There were no reports of a large enough Rebel cell to attack the garrison. He would have to play this just the right way.

"Uprising?"

"Yeah. Why, you support the Empire, or something?" At this, several disgruntled non-humans began to draw in to the table."

"I don't owe the Empire any favors, no. I'm just worried about collateral damage."

"We're going to attack the garrison itself. Just the barracks and the HQ."

289 laughed. Even Outer Rim outposts had at least two A-5V Juggernauts. That, coupled with whatever air defenses and ground emplacements, would make quick work of a group of half-assed rioting civilians.

"You're a bold one, Reb. But no one can be crazy enough to take on an entire stormtrooper division and live to tell the tale. Not with untrained troops and a few repeaters."

"You'd be surprised," Brett said mysteriously. 263's eyes narrowed at that.

"Would I now? We'll see. On to business. I have four crates of T-21 repeating blasters, with about 1500 shots apiece, for starters."

"You're joking," Brett said as his jaw dropped. "We're also in the need for some anti-material weapons and long-range guns."

"We have you covered. 10 PLX-2M missile tubes, a case of E-11S sniper rifles, and since I like you, I'll even throw in a dozen flame projectors, free of charge."

"By the Force, where did you get 10 Plex's?" Brett whispered. "Never mind that. What's this going to cost us?"

"Well, let's see. 5,000 credits for each T-21, so that's 10,000, and I'll include the backpack generators, but you'll get no more ammunition for them. The rocket tubes'll cost ya 4,600 per tube, and 25 per rocket. 12,000 for the rifles, and I'll give you a starter set of 48 rounds per rifle. How many tubes will you be purchasing?"

"Um, hold on." Brett spoke briefly into a wrist comm-link, probably to figure out his fund situation.

"We'll take four tubes and ten rockets, Mr. Fuller."

"Please, call me Haden. Okay, four tubes. All in all, this will run you...what will it run him, Danni?"

"41,400 credits, Haden," 263 said. She was glaring at a Amanin, and 289 could tell she was resisting the urge to fight with it.

"A bargain, I say!" 289 exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Pretty cheap for the kind of ordinance we're giving you."

"Why so cheap?" asked a female Twi'lek standing behind Brett.

289 looked from Brett to the Twi'lek and back, brainstorming reasonable excuses.

"They're hot. An Imp hunter/killer team is on our tail, and if we don't dump these weapons and get out of here in 20 hours, they'll find us and we'll rot in Kessel."

"Uh-huh," the Twi'lek said skeptically. She reached in her pocket for something. FH-719 jumped out of his chair and shoved 289 behind him, drawing a small palmgun from his tunic.

"Drop your weapon!" he commanded.

The Twi'lek's eyes widened as the tiny blaster leveled with her head. She threw her hands up, dropping a small data pad, no doubt what they were going to use to make the transaction.

"SIT DOWN, DAMMIT!" 289 roared. 719 looked at the pad, then realized that he had almost blown their cover and the mission. He apologized quickly, than sat down.

"I am sorry about that," 289 said to Brett. "Jack is my bodyguard."

"Really? This is mine, Lor Rebo," Brett said, gesturing towards the Twi'lek. "And this, is the rest of my small guard."

The entire rest of the bar turned towards the three stormtroopers, drawing various weapons. 289 smiled, strange for a man about to face over 20 sentients with a hold-out pistol, and snapped his fingers. Instantly, Brett's mug shattered.

"What the Force?" he gaped.

"Xerrol Nightstinger. Silent. Invisible. Lethal," 289 grinned. "So. Have the groupies take it easy. Do we have a deal?"

"E-everyone, chill out. Yea. Yea. Sure. Deal. Be in Industrial Zone A3-I6, warehouse 24 in six hours Standard. We'll have the money," Brett said, and got up to leave. Lor and two more Rebels followed him.

"Find everything you can on Haden Fuller, Danni Leth, and Jack Raek," he whispered to Lor. She nodded and began tapping away on her tiny pad.

Back in the bar, 289 made a mental note to check into 719's espionage grade, and to berret the private for rash behavior when the got back to the apartment.

"Go back, and get the rest of the team," 289 tapped out in Imperial Tap Code.

719 nodded, and left the bar.

"Danni, take Dev and see if you can't find this place. Radio me when you do. Then set him up in the clouds," he whispered, meaning for her to find him a good vantage point to snipe.

"Aye, as ordered."

"Okay Commander Spinner, I finally found some information on those three arms dealers. There wasn't much. First off, Fuller was telling the truth. The exact list of armaments, as well as a few others, were stolen off of an Imperial base on Kile II."

"Okay, proceed," Brett said.

"This is interesting, sir. Haden Fuller and Danni Leth were stormtroopers with the 90th Imperial Legion. They were apparently dishonorably discharged when they were discovered being involved in a Ryll smuggling ring. That was two years ago."

"Stormtroopers? Are you kidding me?"

"No sir. I couldn't find anything on a 'Jack Raek', though it's possible that he's a relative of one of those two. Fuller was nominated for Royal Guard training, but the smuggling blew his chances. Both are known xenophobes, and in my opinion sir, Leth is a homicidal sociopath."

"Hmm. Sounds like typical Imperial brainwashing. Might explain their odd behavior. Anything else?"

"No, Commander. Nothing else."

"Alright. Beef up security forces in the warehouse, and especially on Katarn's ship. I don't want to take any chances."

"Excuse me, Sergeant, but Lt. 289 has sent me to retrieve you and the weaponry to be delivered to Industrial Zone A3-I6," 719 said.

"HUA, Private. Start up the truck," 426 responded, reverting back into his role as senior NCO. "158, 705 start loading. I want the Mike Tangos in the back, followed by the T-21's and the rifles. Flame projectors first, but make sure they are well protected." He looked 705 straight in the eyes.

"WELL. Protected. Got it?"

"Yes sir, right away sir, I'm on it sir, is that all sir?" 705 said at pseudo-attention.

"Good. Now, quit foolin' around and act like a goddamn soldier!"

"Right away, Sergeant."

705 and 158 began to heft the crates and carry them out to the repulsor truck. They had a difficult time, as the apartment the ISEC team was staying in was 20 stories off the ground.

"You know something, 158?" 705 asked.

"No. What's that, oh-five?" 158 grunted as he strained to back down the stairs.

"I think that every non-com in this army has it out for us."

"Huh," 158 said. He'd been listening to 705's crackpot theories since he'd made the mistake to go infantry. "And why is that?"

"Well, my good mate in eternal delinquency, just look at this. We are carrying these very heavy crates down 200 feet, to be loaded into a truck, which we will have to ride in the back of, with explosives. Said heavy crates will just be delivered–" he paused as they turned around, and he began to go backwards.

"–to a Rebel cell, to be used in various anti-Empire protests and attacks. By order of 426, albeit indirectly."

"Uh-huh."

"Not only that, my forlorn and downcast friend. Ever since 426 got a hard on for the Sergeant Major, she's been like a hormone-enhanced, PMS suffering, agitated rancor, trying to repulse him. And hell hath no fury like an angry Sgt. Maj."

"True that," 158 agreed.

"I wonder if our intrepid Sergeant will sweep the good lass of her feet and into the sunset?"

"I can't imagine what that would be like. It's almost scary to think about."

"Yeah. Might do him good though. He seems to have mellowed some from being in her proximity. Anyway, now that 116 has his two stripes, the little shit's ego has swollen ten-fold."

"I reckon."

"And do you remember Staff Sergeant 172?"

"Who? The drill instructor?"

"The very same, compadre."

"Well, that's his job."

"I guess," 705 said, trying shaking some sweat off. "Hey, we're almost there!"

"So what were you two happy assholes talking about, drill instructors?" 426 said when they finally reached the bottom. His arms were folded over his chest, and he looked angry.

"How did you get down here so fast?" 705 demanded as he shoved the crate in the back of the truck.

"You mean, how did I beat two idiots who were carrying a heavy box chock-full of repeating blasters to the bottom of a 20-story building? I used the turbolift, you half-witted retard. You know they have a cargo tubolift in the back, right?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I meant," 705 said. 158 slapped him in the back of the head.

"WE HAVE A SCHEDULE TO KEEP, PRIVATE! NOW HOP TO IT, BEFORE I RIP YOUR NOSE OFF, AND GLUE IT TO YOUR ASSHOLE!" 426 roared.

705 hung his head, while 158 patted him on the shoulder. "You knew it was too good to last."

"Aye. Here's the 426 we all know and despise," he pouted as they walked to the turbolift to get more heavy crates. "It's the separation that's done it," he added.

Even with the four of them working, it took over 40 minutes to load the truck with their contraband weapons. When the last crate of flame projectors was placed in the back of the truck, the soldiers took a moment to respite.

"Well, if 719 has given us the correct information, and plotted us a correct course, we would arrive at the RV in two hours. I reckon we've got about three hours and some 15 minutes to get there. So what are we going to do for the next hour or so?"

"We could desert," 705 opted hopefully.

"Belay that stupidity, seven-oh-five."

"Anyone up for a game odds and evens? Winner buys drinks next time we're on leave," 158 suggested.

"These some messed up terms," 705 said, and then in his best holo-star impersonation he slapped 719 on the chest and said, "Whaddya say, Slim Johnny? You in? Or ya sleepin' with the aiwahs tonight?"

"I'm all in, boss," he said, also in a pretty good gangster voice.

426 laughed. "Boy's got a sense of humor. Alright, we'll do best four outta five, me and 705, 158 and Slim here."

"Alright, bring it on!"

Three hours and seventeen minutes later, outside Warehouse 24

263 tapped her foot impatiently, arms crossed, with her trademark scowl plastered on her face.

"It's been two damn minutes already? Where the hell is he? Can't Rebels read a damn chrono?" she snarled

"Chill out, 'Danni', he said they'd show, they'll show," 289 said.

"Yea, '_Danni_'," 705 teased, feeling safe in the cab of the truck. Rarely did a stormtrooper tell another their real name. It was almost a mark of shame, as it meant you had turned in your armor and service number, and retired, or were dishonorably discharged.

"Shut up. You know as well as I do that you can't trust...those people," she finished somewhat awkwardly.

"Don't start this with me, 263, not now."

"S'that an order, sir?"

"Don't push it."

The warehouse's shutter lifted open, reveling Brett and his Twi'lek lacky, Lor.

"Ah, Haden! Welcome to our humble storage. You're just in time, as the attack is about to be launched.

289's brow betrayed a moment of anger, before his training took over.

"Yes, good then. We have the goods. You got the green?"

"Uh-huh. Come inside. Lor, please direct the men in the truck where to park."

"Sir. Follow me, please."

Inside the cab, 158 traded looks with 705.

"Twi'leks. Sweet."

"Riiiiiight," agreed 705 already lost in fantasy.

"Follow me, Haden," Brett said. The shutter ominously closed behind them.

"Dammit! Sir, I've got no shot," 116 reported over the tiny flesh colored comm-link in 289's ear. 289 clicked his comm-link twice, signaling 116 to do whatever he thought necessary should the mission spiral out of control.

"It's a bit dark in here, if you don't mind me saying so, Mr. Spinner," 426 said. His body was tensed, ready to lash out with a crippling blow.

"Oh, how silly of me. Lights!" Brett snapped. Florescent lighting slowly flickered on.

"Mon Mothma biting Vader's hairy ballsack," 426 said in awe.

"How aptly put."

Forming ranks and rows were dozens of vehicles, ranging from speeder bikes, to surplus AT-RTs, a few AT-PTs, and even four AT-TEs, towering over everything else. Rebels of every size, gender, and species scrambled about, rushing into and out of a tunnel that most likely led deep under ground. Technicians preformed last minute checks and maintenance, and Rebel troops loaded weapons and boarded the AT-TEs. With over eighty troops participating in the assault, and the AT-TEs, the garrison wouldn't stand a chance.

"Where in the...how the...just how the hell did you come by all of this equipment? Especially the _AT-TE_s?" 289 demanded after he keyed open his mike.

"The Empire is none to popular with most of the worlds it oppresses. We get scraps, here and there. Some, bigger than others.

"Let me guess. You have a star ship hidden in here to, somewhere?"

"It's refueling for the attack. Should be done in about half an hour."

Every stormtrooper present gulped. Intel had been wrong. Katarn was set to leave in 30 or 40 minutes, and they hadn't even finished offloading the truck.

"That's...that's impressive," 289 said.

"The Imps won't know what hit them. Others will see our example, and soon the entire galaxy will revolt, one, two planets at a time. Then more. Dozens!. The Empire will fall, and everyone will know the name of Brett Spinner!"

"We have offloaded the shipment of arms and are distributing them sir," Lor said to Brett on a private comm-link channel.

"Good. You may leave when ready, Mr. Fuller," Brett said, addressing the team of 'smugglers'.

289 didn't have time to respond. A volley of cannon fire from a TIE fighter blew gaping holes in the roof of the behemoth warehouse. This was followed up by another volley, this time some penetrating the interior of the Rebel's staging area, killing six.

"What the hell is going on? How did they find out!" Brett yelled. Then it hit. Arms dealers appearing when they needed them. Ex-stormtroopers. ISEC units striking Rebel outposts. 'Danni's' behavior.

"You..." Brett said maliciously, turning.

"Me," 289 admitted, firing his hold-out into Brett's face. The delusional Rebel dropped like a sack of perma-crete.

"705, get the Twi'lek! We need to find Katarn's ship now!" 289 yelled. His men had also drawn tiny pistols, and where firing at the confused Rebels. The garrison's A-5 Juggernaut rolled up and smashed through one of the warehouse's walls. Stormtroopers poured out, and a massive firefight began. Blaster bolts indiscriminately hit troopers and Rebels alike.

"She won't talk sir," 158 came back over the comm-link.

"Kill her! And start up the truck, we need to get out of here!"

"Sir! A hangar door is opening, three blocks down! It's gotta be Katarn!

426 looked at 289 and said, "I'm on it, el-tee."

"Go. The rest of you! Fall back to the struck," 289 ordered, scooping up a fallen rifle. A-280. Old rifle, but reliable. Fired from a 50-shot detachable power pack. 719 did the same, but took a blaster round in the chest.

"Shit! Man down," 263 hissed, grabbing 719, and hoisting him over her shoulders. "His breathing's ragged sir, might not make it."

"Just. Keep. Running," 289 huffed as they bolted for the truck, firing every so often at the Rebels.

They reached the truck and clambered in the back. 705 heard them get in and floored it in reverse.

One of the Rebels got lucky, and made it into one of the AT-TEs' 240mm projectile cannons. He swivelled the turret and fired. The round struck the Juggernaut dead on, destroying it and killing a squad of stormtroopers who were using it for cover. He turned to blow up the infiltrators truck, but they shot out of the warehouse and made for Katarn's hangar.

Meanwhile (after spotting the opening hangar doors.)

116 wasted no time. He pulled from his belt a small grappling hook, and repelled down the building he was on top of. A repulsor-taxi screeched to a halt as he landed right in front of it.

"SIR! IMPERIAL STORMTROOPER! I AM COMMANDEERING YOUR VEHICLE!" 116 ordered in a commanding tone. He drew his sidearm, a standard SC-14.

The driver moved to the passenger seat, hands up and sweating. His fare, an elderly Umbaran couple, were shaking and wailing in the back. Once inside, 116 gunned the little transport as fast as it would go, racing for the hangar.

"A-a-a-are you really a stormtrooper?" the driver asked.

"Yes."

The cab raced across the streets, finally reaching the front of the hangar. 426 was there to meet him.

"How'd you get here so fast?" 116 asked, tossing 426 his pistol.

"Stole a swoop bike off some kid. IMPERIAL STORMTROOPERS! OPEN THE DOOR!"

No one answered. "Blast it," 426 ordered

116 discharged the rifle directly into the door's lock panel, overloading it. They charged in the door, 116 going high, 426 low.

They arrived just in time. To see Katarn's ship, the _Moldy Crow_, begin to rise to take off. 116 snapped off a futile shot at the cockpit, but the durasteel window only bubbled and blackened. Katarn's co-pilot, a human woman, looked out the cockpit at the two troopers, but diverted her attention to the control panel. A repeating blaster underslung on the _Crow_ turned to fire at the troopers, forcing them to dive for cover while the ship roared off into night sky.

"We're dead," 116 said, dropping the rifle.

426 could only nod. They, out of all the commando squads in the Imperial Army, had been chosen to capture Katarn. And they failed.

"One-one-six, we are coming up on your position _fast_. Get ready to board the truck on the fly," 263's voice crackled on the comm-link.

"Roger," they said in unison. True enough, the truck came barreling down the street, with 158 leaning out the passenger side, and 289 in the back, firing single rifle shots. Six Rebels on speeder bikes were pursing the truck. They didn't overtake the truck, instead choosing to fire their cannons periodically. 116 made a running dive for the rear, grabbing a handhold and pulling himself onto the bed of the truck. 263 pulled 426 in right after, narrowly avoiding a bolt. 116 and 426 collapsed, defeated.

"Where's the plans?" 263 asked. Neither of them answered.

"You got the plans and killed Katarn, right? Tell me you got the plans!"

"He...he...you know? He got away," 116 said, unmoving. Until a blaster bolt whizzed past his head.

"He did WHAT!" 263 screamed. She grabbed 116 by the neck and started shaking him violently, oblivious to the pursing Rebels.

"Ha! Got one!" 158 said. The man-less bike swerved and crashed into a jogger.

"You didn't get the plans? What the fuck happened, Sergeant? What the FUCK happened?" 289 asked in uncharacteristic anger.

"The Rebels must have tipped them off, el-tee. He was already set to go."

"Oh! Oh! Oh, I'm sure the jury will see it that way. If we aren't executed on sight, we'll spend the rest of our lives rotting on Kessel, or Dathomir."

"Jury, sir?" 719 wheezed.

"At the court martial, you fools!"

"Sir, we'll be at the launch pad in 36 minutes if all goes well," 705 bellowed over the whine of blasterfire.

"You two," 289 pointed at 116 and 426. "You just sit over there in the back." He took careful aim, and blasted another Rebel. "Just. Sit there."

"Man, can't this tub go any faster," 158 said to 705.

"Shut up. I'm going as fast as I can."

"That's not fast en—Ah!" he hissed. A blaster bolt had grazed his arm, and he dropped the rifle. "Not again, dammit," he whined.

"What?" 705 asked, not taking his eyes from the road.

"I got shot."

"Again?"

"Yeah."

"How are you still alive? You've been shot five times, all non-lethal. And there was that grenade on Dantooine."

"Not sure. Hey, watch out for that kid!" 158 said in alarm.

Up ahead, a human male, about eight years old, froze in the street like a deer in the headlights. There was no room and no time.

"Aw shit! Sorry, kid," 705 winced.

The truck bounced on it's repulsors and blood splattered on the windshield.

"Oh God in Heaven, you ran over a child," 158 exclaimed.

"Shit man, what was I supposed to do? These streets ain't build for maneuvering, and if I stopped, well, we ain't wearing armor, are we?" 705 looked in the rear view mirror. "Hey, look. The Rebels are peeling off."

"Don't change the subject, 705," 158 warned.

"No, they are, for real."

"Well, at least we caught one break."

"Fifty-eight, you know there was nothing–," 705 began, but 158 cut him off.

"Yeah. I guess there wasn't."

One day later, Imperial Star Destroyer _Fallen_

"2nd Lieutenant HI-289, Imperial Sabotage and Espionage, you were in command of this raid, yes?" Capt. Blackwell inquired.

"Yes sir." All the former Black Storm troopers stood at attention, with the exception of FN-719 who was allowed to be in a hover-chair.

"Your report states that you were on schedule, when you came about information leading you to believe Katarn was ready to leave sooner than expected."

"Correct, sir. I believe that it was the presence of the garrison that spooked the Rebels into lifting off early."

"Let's go to that. You say that neither you nor anyone in your party contacted the 69th Division?"

"No sir."

"Untrue, sir," 116 said, stepping forward. "I contacted the garrison via my comm-link when I learned that the Rebel cell had enough men and matérial to overthrow the Imperial forces. I did not inform anyone of my actions prior to this hearing."

"So Corporal, you take full responsibility for the loss of an A-5 Juggernaut and crew, 203 stormtroopers, and the destruction of an Eriadu building?"

"I do sir, knowing full well the implications of my actions."

"And what are those actions, trooper?" growled Blackwell.

"That had I not informed the garrison, there is a very real possibility that they would have been overrun, in which case we would be looking at the loss of 10 A-5s, three TIE wings, and over 10,000 men, eventually. This might have started a slow domino effect, which would have resulted in a massive civil war."

"Has it occurred to you Corporal, that the destruction of a multi-billion credit battlestation would do the same? HAS IT?"

"With all due respect to Capt. Blackwell, I think that the _right now_ is more important than the _maybe later. _It is this trooper's belief that the Rebels could not possibly find a way to destroy such a heavily armed and armored weapon from the exterior. Nor could they destroy it from the inside."

Captain Blackwell glared at 116 for a moment, then resigned to his desk. "If this had been up to me, I'd have the lot of you sent off Kessel. Unfortunately, Grand Moff Tarkin feels precisely as you do, General Mohc has taken a shining to you, Corporal, and Lt. Colonel JM-391 is under the impression that you saved his legion from taking serious casualties. Gen. Mohc requested that you be reassigned to a regular infantry unit. As of this moment, you are all assigned to the 385th Imperial Legion, Sublegion D, 3nd Battalion, India Company. Unfortunately, the Battalion's billet for a Sergeant Major is filled, so you are hereby demoted to Staff Sergeant. Dismissed. Except you, Lieutenant. I'd like to have a word with you in private."

The squad shuffled out the door with the exception of 289. From there, a squad of Marines escorted them to their bunks, guarded by more Marines. 719 was taken back to sickbay. As soon as the door shut and locked, 263 went into a vicious cycle of cursing and kicking.

"All in all, I think we got off light," 116 said sullenly.

426 snorted, eyeing the locked door. "Are you kidding? Do you even know where the 385th is currently stationed? Ralltir, you jackasses. They've been rioting for months. Practically the whole damn planet."

"And you know what pisses me off?"

"What would that be, 705?" 116 asked.

"That Ralltir is only a few parsecs away from Chandrila. That's where this whole bloody mess began. Now ain't that a kick in the ass?"

Before anyone could question 705's logic, 289 was escorted in by two Marines. When the let him go, he managed to make it to his bunk before collapsing. His squad rushed to his side, even the enraged 263.

"What's wrong, sir?" she asked in a gentle tone. It caught everyone totally off-guard.

"They've reassigned me. To Cardia. Indefinitely."

Cardia, an entire planet devoted to making the Imperial fighting force, was the most feared and unwanted post for line officers. Usually, only the best went there, but then only if they volunteered. If a higher-up had you 'reassigned' to Cardia, it was punishment for some unspeakable act of insubordination, failure of duty, etc. And 289 was stuck there. For the rest of his career.

"What!"

"They don't have any need for a platoon commander with the 385th, nowhere in 37,000 men. And HighCom doesn't want such a 'promising officer's field experience' to be wasted."

"They can't do that! Commander Turke wouldn't let them," 158 exclaimed, but he knew otherwise.

"Can't they?"

"We'll get you out of this, sir," 263 vowed.

289 regained his composure and dismissed her claim. "Don't throw your career away over me, boys. Instead, is anyone up for a game of sabacc?"

- -tbc- -

A/N: So to recap the last 13 pages; squad gets mission, squad goes undercover, squad finds rebel assault force, squad tips off Imperial forces, squad is reassigned.


End file.
